


blue tide

by sparxwrites



Series: University AU [2]
Category: The Yogscast
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bitterness, Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mental Instability, Other, Strangulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-07-22 04:31:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7419856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparxwrites/pseuds/sparxwrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I hate you,” said Lying, quietly, from their seat in Kirin’s lap. “I hope you know that. I hate you.”<br/>Kirin sighed, leaning back against the railings of the balcony. “I know,” he said, staring out at the city lights laid out below them, the snail’s trail of cars backed up end-to-end on the main road that ran past the housing estate. “You tell me this regularly, Lying. Every time you drink, in fact.”</p><p>(Kirin and Lying have an early-evening chat over a bottle of vodka.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	blue tide

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote most of this when i was having a Bad Time a few weeks ago. things to do when you’re feeling shitty: write angry-sad stuff abt ur faves, i guess? shrugs. also, it’s surprisingly hard to find a uni au equivalent to locking someone in a well for a few centuries, but w/e. vague sequel / in the same ‘verse as ["looking for you"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6865027).

“I hate you,” said Lying, quietly, from their seat in Kirin’s lap. “I hope you know that. I _hate_ you.”

Kirin sighed, leaning back against the railings of the balcony. “I know,” he said, staring out at the city lights laid out below them, the snail’s trail of cars backed up end-to-end on the main road that ran past the housing estate. “You tell me this regularly, Lying. Every time you drink, in fact.”

A short distance across the building he could see Ridge’s tiny window open, smoke curling out. Whether it was weed or nicotine was anyone’s guess, but based on Parvis’ absence, likely the latter. Not that it really mattered, in the end – neither were allowed in the apartment, both of them stank, and both would lead to them failing the landlord inspection due in a little over a week.

At least, thought Kirin, he’d remembered to open the window this time.

Lying made a soft noise, low and considering, a hum in the back of their throat. “You never take me seriously, though,” they said, brushing a thumb across the cold neck of the bottle clutched in their fingers. Despite the heat of their skin against the glass, the evening air had won out, leaching away the warmth. “When I say it. You never _listen_.”

“Well, this is me listening, then.” Kirin’s tone was amused, and Lying resisted the urge to bare their teeth at the blatant humouring, as if Lying were a small and entertainingly stupid child. “You hate me. I’ve heard you. I’m just not sure why you keep coming round, if you really hate me so much.”

“You have free alcohol,” they muttered, and _did_ bare their teeth this time, when Kirin laughed, jaw clenched so tight it ached as their lips peeled back. They could feel a headache coming on. “And a warm flat.”

Kirin laughed again, resting his chin against the top of Lying’s head and staring out towards the distant, hazy line of buildings on the horizon, glinting with the telltale twenty-four-hour light of the inner city. “A warm lap, I think you mean,” he corrected – only to frown when Lying failed to show any kind of amusement. “…Friend?”

“…Doesn’t matter,” muttered Lying, the tight irritation in their voice belying their words as they lifted the bottle to their lips again. The alcohol burnt a little on the way down, hot and sharp like a mouthful of wildfire, and they grimaced with it. “It’s not relevant. Not that _you’d_ care, anyways, of course.”

Kirin sighed, tipping his head back against the railings and looking up at the darkening sky. “Oh, come _on_ , Lying. You’re not still bitter about that scholarship, are you?”

Expression souring, Lying drummed their fingernails against the side of the bottle, a high _tap-tap-tap_ against the glass that made Kirin wince. “Oh, I don’t know why I would be,” they said, voice saccharine-sweet, unbearably pleasant, and so _incredibly_ dangerous with it. “After all, it’s not as if you single-handedly ripped my future from my hands for a prize you didn’t even need- oh, _wait_.”

They bared their teeth in a mockery of a smile, despite the fact Kirin couldn’t see their face, and resisted the urge to curl their hands into fists.

“So?” asked Kirin, with the infuriating, charming kind of dismissal he did so well, the kind that clawed its way under Lying’s skin and made them itch down to their bones with white hot anger. “You’ve had to spend a year working minimum wage, and you’ll apply next year, and the scholarship will be as good as yours.” He smiled, the easy smile of the comfortably wealthy, the smile of someone who had their tuition fees paid off. The smile of someone who really, really didn’t _need_ a PhD scholarship, but had gotten one anyway, just to see if he could. “It’s not the end of the world.”

“ _It’s not the end of the world_ ,” repeated Lying, quietly, voice somewhere between ice-cold and nearly cracking as their fingers knuckled white around the neck of the bottle. “That’s… very easy for you to say, isn’t it? You’re not the one living it, Kirin. You’re not the one in a dead-end retail job. And meanwhile, here I am, working twelve hour shifts to pay my rent and-”

“Keep the heating on?” offered Kirin, lips quirking up a little. “Isn’t that a bit stereotypical?”

“I can’t afford to turn the heating on.” Lying’s voice was barely more than a whisper, jaw clenched so tight their teeth were beginning to ache. “I’ve- it’s been cold, all winter. I was going to say _not starve_.”

It _had_ been cold, so _endlessly_ cold, even through layers of t-shirts and jumpers and a blanket round their shoulders like a shawl. The fridge empty more often than not, mould crawling up the walls, the bathroom almost permanently half-flooded from a broken pipe they had neither the energy nor know-how to fix. They’d spent the winter padding through a centimetre of water across the floor, shivering beneath their blanket, hungry and exhausted and in the dark because turning the lights on meant a higher electricity bill than they could afford – and trying not to look in the mirrors, because the thing that looked back at them with sunken, hollow eyes and unwashed hair and drowned-blue lips from the cold _was not them_.

Somehow, somewhere along the line, the tiny flat that had been their salvation not so long ago had become a hellhole of a prison they just couldn’t seem to pull themself free from.

The half-smile on Kirin’s face slid slowly off. “…Oh,” he murmured, suddenly very aware of the hand he had in Lying’s hair, of every square inch of him that was touching Lying, skin-to-skin and cloth-to-cloth. “Oh, I… I didn’t realise. I’m sorry.” The words tasted hollow even as he said them – empty, worthless sounds.

Lying made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snarl, a strange tangle of noise that got caught in the back of their throat. “You’re _sorry_ ," they choked out, faintly hysterical, anger laced through every syllable – sharp enough that Kirin half-recoiled, even though with Lying on his lap and his back to the balcony railings there was nowhere to go. “Oh, you’re sorry, I’m so _glad_ , Kirin, that makes _everything_ better.”

They grit their teeth before anything else could slip out, the hand still clutching the bottle white-knuckled and the nails of their other hand biting into the soft meat of their palm. Casting their eyes upwards, they focused on the moon, a thin sliver of silver-white just emerging in the late evening sky, and tried to remember to breathe.

“I could… I’m sure I could give you a- a loan? Or something. If you needed it,” said Kirin, tentatively.

Lying _snarled_ , twisting their head, gaze snapping to lock with Kirin’s. “I don’t want your pity!” they snarled, cheeks flushed red with anger and alcohol. “And I don’t want your thrice-damned _money_ , either, Kirin. I’m not some- some _charity case_. I _don’t want your pity_.”

“Well,” said Kirin, quietly, worrying at his lip, watching Lying with a cautious eye. They were small, but Kirin knew from long and unpleasant experience that size wasn’t really an indicator of anything when it came to a propensity or aptitude for violence. “What… what _do_ you want, friend? I mean, you- you evidently want _something_.”

For a long moment, Lying was silent. Kirin could feel them twitching, every so often, a solid weight against him with their head lowered and their hands in their lap. They were unnaturally still, in the way they often were and few other people _ever_ were, hair covering their face like a curtain.

“I want you to hurt,” they said, eventually, voice flat and even.

Kirin twitched, half-recoiled, but with Lying in front and railings behind there was nowhere to go. “I- what?” he managed, a faint trickle of fear making its way down his spine somewhere beneath the confusion.

“I want you to hurt,” repeated Lying, quietly. Raising their head, they scraped the hair that had fallen into their eyes back and stared out at the city before them. The days were getting longer, with summer approaching, and though the swollen sun had dipped below the horizon a half-hour ago, the skyline was still painted a pink-gold where it wasn’t interrupted with buildings.

They circled a thumb around the rim of the bottle in their grip, and lifted it. The sharp, oily taste of the vodka against their tongue helped sweep away the bitter taste of blood filling their mouth from where they’d bitten the inside of their cheek hard enough to make it bleed – and the warmth of it in their chest helped ease the evening chill. “I want you to- gods _damn_ it, Kirin, you didn’t _need_ it, you didn’t need the scholarship, or the money, and you took it anyway, you- _you_ -”

The words they wanted wouldn't come, foul names and expletives and a broken scream of fury trapped somewhere under their lungs. The weight of it made it hard to breathe, strangled them, until they were panting for breath through the pressure of all that they wanted to say building up inside them.

“Lying…” said Kirin, touching a gentle hand to their shoulder – only to flinch when they twisted in his lap, straddling his hips, to face him.

“Don’t-!” they snapped, the word slipping out of them as if they’d been punched in the chest, leaving them aching and bruised and trembling. They grabbed at Kirin, one hand still half-clutching a bottle at his shoulder and the other at his throat, leaning in until there was only an inch between Kirin’s face and theirs. “Don’t you _dare_ , Kirin, I _don’t want_ -!”

The words stuck in their throat, choking, and they gasped, swallowing down a sob. “ _Damn you_ ,” they hissed, fingers twitching and tightening, nails painted in chipped, crimson nail polish digging half-moon crescents into the soft give of Kirin’s skin. “Damn you to _hell_ -”

They clung tighter, tighter, until their hands were pressing bruises into Kirin’s shoulder and throat, until their grip started leaving him dizzy and breathless and wheezing through the clench of their fist. They could feel their hands shaking, feel _themself_ shaking, but they couldn’t seem to pull back – there was something hypnotic about the shock in Kirin’s eyes, his blown pupils, the slow reddening of his cheeks, the throttled rasp of his breath.

He wasn’t fighting back, wasn’t kicking or shoving or thrashing. He was just… sitting there, taking it, lips half-parted – and there was something _there_ , through the haze of oxygen deprivation descending over his gaze, something hazier still. Something sick, and wrong, and Lying could feel the fury coiling in their gut like a living thing, because how _dare_ he-

Whining quietly with the last of the air in his lungs, Kirin let his mouth fall open and head drop back, and arched forward into the pressure of Lying’s fingers.

And, just like that, it was gone – the anger, the energy, the sharp, sadistic pleasure that had wrapped a stranglehold around their stomach. Their grip loosened, and they shuddered, fingers still twitching around his throat but no longer _clenched_.

Kirin gasped in a breath, coughing, eyes fluttering closed for a second, and Lying gasped with him, as if they were the one that had been strangled.

“Lying,” said Kirin, gently, voice wrecked, tugging their hand off his throat and settling it on his other shoulder. They said nothing, but let him, still just _breathing_. “Hey. Lying?”

Kirin sighed, wrapping an arm around their waist and tugging them closer. They didn’t try to fight it – curled into him when he rested a warm hand at the base of their skull, thumb sweeping back and forth against the soft space behind their ear. There were no words left, _nothing_ left, other than a quiet hiccup of sound that caught in their throat, teeth gritted and eyes determinedly dry.

“Shh,” murmured Kirin, voice raspy-raw and hands so _warm_. “Shh. It’s okay. It’s okay.”

There was silence for a long minute, broken only by Lying’s forcibly even breaths and the growl of traffic below. “I hate you,” they whispered, eventually, voice barely audible with how soft it was, with the way Kirin’s shirt muffled everything. They drew in a deep, shuddering breath, fighting against the cracks in their iron-shelled composure. “I _hate_ you.”

“Yeah.” Kirin sighed, tilting his head back and staring up at the sky. Lying’s grip around the bottle had gone lax, and he eased it from their fingers, raised it to his own lips and tilted it until the sharp, paint-stripper bite of cheap vodka flooded across his tongue. Above him, the sky bled pink to black, a muddy grey between, as the moon rose ever higher.

Against his chest, cold as always and almost unbearably _fragile_ in a way Kirin had never known them to be before, Lying had begun to tremble.

He raised a hand to the back of their head, the silkiness of their hair soft against the warmth of his palm. Despite the strange intimacy of the action, they didn’t push him away – and he exhaled slowly, eyes slipping closed until the burgeoning stars in the darkening sky were echoed against the black insides of his eyelids. “Yeah. I know.”


End file.
